


You Used To Be So In Control

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's FebuWhump 2021 Oneshots [16]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Arguing, FebuWhump2021, Fights, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, POV Matt Murdock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29698314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: FebuWhump 2021 Day 16: [Broken Bones]Matt accidentally hurts somebody very close to him.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: MissMoochy's FebuWhump 2021 Oneshots [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136714
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	You Used To Be So In Control

It didn’t matter what they were talking about. All that mattered was the aftermath.

Foggy had raised his voice. Screaming in his face, spittle flying. His hair rippled, disturbed by the air, the furious surge of his jaw. He’d spoken so sharply, his jaw snapped the air. And Matt had stood there, taken it. Felt the simmer in his gut, boiling in the acids and juices, sloshing inside. And perhaps it solidified, grew arms and legs, nourished by the heat. Because he felt the rage creeping through his veins, making his skin ache. His fingers curled into fists, he could hear his own teeth grinding in his skull, and his heart hammered against this ribs as if it had a voice that needed to be heard.

He’d stepped back, room and air would help, distance — but Foggy had laughed. A fucking smug slap of laughter, designed to strike him down and make him feel small. And Matt had — he hadn’t meant to, but — 

“You hit me,” Foggy said thickly. When he breathed, rapid, shallow breaths, they sounded wet. His nose was clogged with blood.

He still felt an echo of phantom motion in his bones. He’d leapt forward, a sinuous bound across the carpeted floor, his spine clicked, his back arched. And he’d let loose, his arm curling in the air with no conscious thought. The crunch of his knuckles on bone was satisfying. Just a delicious, wet snap like tearing a stalk out of the earth. But he’d jerked back into his body, and shock and shame hit him like a wave.  _ Foggy. _ He’d hurt  _ Foggy. _

Foggy’s breaths sounded nasal, distorted by the broken bone. Matt could sense the injury, it broadcast flares of hot pain to his senses. He wanted to rip his own hands off, cut them at the wrist. Never touch again, never strike, never fight. The one person he was supposed to keep safe. 

“I’m sorry!”

“Don’t—”

“I didn’t mean to—” He reached out in the empty space, just desperately needed his fingers to connect with Foggy’s warm, soft skin. Seek his reassuring shape in the chaos. But Foggy smelt wrong. Wet blood, fresh and meaty, mingling with watery mucus. And his blood, not the blood that had been spilt and was pouring from the nose, no. The blood underneath the veins. It was troubled. Hormones raged in his veins, the sharp, pinched stink of fear. God, he was afraid of Matt. His instinctive reaction was outrage, and he clenched his hands into fists, but he forced himself to calm down. Don’t make Foggy feel even worse. It sickened him, struck him right the skin and down to his bones. Foggy was afraid. His heart was pattering, a nervous scuttle in his ribs, and Matt hated it. Wanted to dig his fingers into the flesh, curl his fingers around that precious lump of muscle and coax it to sleep. Feel the beat slow in his palms. He wanted to manually restart Foggy, rewire him so he reacted the way he should. He shouldn’t be afraid. Matt would never intentionally hurt him.

“Just—please—” Foggy held up a hand and didn’t bother narrating the action, so he must be upset. Matt ignored him, continued to advance because the thought of staying away was unthinkable. He had to help him. Had to fix him.

“We’ll go to Claire’s. Okay? She can — she has supplies, she’ll take a look at your nose and set it for you.”   


“No,” Foggy said immediately. “I’m not going to Claire.”   


Matt frowned. “But — but you need to get it set. Otherwise, it’ll heal crooked.”

Foggy laughed wildly, a hysterical shriek that burned Matt’s ears. “Nowadays, they have these big buildings called hospitals where you go when you’re injured and they heal you! No need to go to some poor woman’s apartment in the middle of the night. Jesus, Matt.”

“I was trying to help.”   


“You’ve — ugh, God, this smarts—” Foggy pinched the bridge of his nose and the smell of fresh blood flashed through the air. Matt instinctively inhaled, collected it into his lungs. Blood was...blood. He’d seen a lot of it as a kid, stitching up his dad. And these days, he spilt more blood than tears, patrolling every night. Blood was just another one of life’s fluids, it was as uninteresting as water. But just knowing that it was Foggy’s lifeblood that he could smell. That made it significant. Valuable.

“Please let me help you,” Matt begged, and he reached out again, but Foggy backed away. Hasty steps, his hair swinging in his face, jerked backwards like a fish trying to wriggle free from the hook.

Foggy grabbed his jacket, didn’t bother putting in on. Said he had to go to the hospital. Wouldn’t bother with an ambulance, he’d take a cab. And he didn’t say it but he meant: _ I’m going alone. _

And Matt listened to him walk away. Hours later, he could still smell faint traces of Foggy’s blood in the air.


End file.
